


Stumbling Across The Universe

by Sashataakheru



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Mock the Week RPF
Genre: Amnesia, Confusion, Gen, Mistaken Identity, Time Lords, apocalyptic plots, spaceship crashes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-30
Updated: 2014-08-30
Packaged: 2018-02-15 10:21:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2225466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sashataakheru/pseuds/Sashataakheru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Milton Jones is a dishevelled Time Lord, who crashed to Earth, and can't remember who he is. Chris tries to help. Sort of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stumbling Across The Universe

**Author's Note:**

> This is (obviously) a complete work of fiction. Doctor Who isn't mine; I'm just playing with the universe.

The console exploding with bright purple flames was clearly not a good sign of anything, he was quite sure about that. He'd only been trying to set it to a particular location, and it had decided not to play along. Now the console was slightly ablaze, and smoking, and the engines were whirring, taking him, well, somewhere else, he assumed. 

He tried to see where it was going, but the gauges were either spinning or offering nonsensical information; one was even beeping in a rather alarming manner, its light flashing a lurid shade of green. His TARDIS had never been very reliable, but that was hardly his fault. He'd been given his grandfather's old TARDIS, which, if anything, was hopelessly old-fashioned. It was so old there was no one around who still remembered how to maintain it. He'd had to teach himself, but at least it had bonded him to the old ship. He was quite fond of her now.

Still, it had not lead to a dull life, and that, for a Time Lord, was a good thing. He hated being bored. At least his ship took him somewhere new every few days, depending on what counted as a 'day'. He never got to choose where, most of the time, but he trusted her to take care of him. Even that one time when he'd got back late, and she'd taken off without him, she'd still come back for him the next day, realising she'd left without him. She was the only companion he'd ever needed.

It was the second explosion - louder, and with more mustard-coloured flames - and the screeching alarms, that told him he was crashing. He could feel the speed increase as his ship fell, caught by some sort of gravity. He'd died a few times over the centuries, but never in a crashing TARDIS. He wondered, curiously, what it would be like. If he survived, perhaps he'd get a new face, too. Starting again, on some strange world he'd never been to before, potentially stuck there until he'd used up all his remaining regenerations, if the TARDIS was completely destroyed. 

Oh. He hadn't even thought of that. He might not even have a TARDIS in a minute. That would be sad. How could this be his final minute of existence? He felt he might have dressed better, if he'd known. He frowned, amidst the destruction. 

The crash itself took barely a minute, stretched out to an impossible degree. Clinging to the ship for dear life, it was all he could do as it crashed into fire and darkness, the sound so loud his ears hurt. Then, there was nothing but silence, and dust, and the cool air.

* * *

He was breathing, of that he was certain. He could feel his chest rise and fall at regular intervals. Yes, he was definitely breathing. That was a start. Everything bloody hurt, though. His eyes would not open, and he couldn't move. Strange dreams flitted into his mind, but he wasn't really certain what they were about. Flying, crashing, fire, then he was in the middle of a sandy desert, with a strange creature he'd never seen before. He felt his muscles twitch at the unexpected shift. 

There were other faces he saw, too, none of which he recognised. They were the odd face at a packed market place, or the face of someone on a large statue. Someone who was wanted by the authorities, or found in the face of a small child playing in a field. A voice kept telling him to take care of the ship. He wondered where his fleet was, then, if he had one. 

A mountain behind him spewed ash and molten lava. Flashes of fire brushed against his memory. The sound of screaming drifted towards him. He took a step backwards, and as a woman came running towards him, he felt the ground shake, and he fell-

The darkness was absolute, and in many ways, quite calming. Unsure what the meaning was of the strange dreams he was having, he decided to let go, and let them run their course, no matter how fanciful they were. It wasn't like he could remember who he was, anyway. Maybe it'd be fun to be someone else for a while, even if it was all just an illusion. A mask that hid the reality he was running from.

* * *

By the time he did open his eyes, he was in a strange room. It wasn't particularly odd, but he was sure he'd never seen that room before. In his mind, he introduced himself, because it felt rude to spend time in a strange room without making friends with it. He nodded, slightly, to the ceiling, and sighed heavily.

The air tasted weird, he decided, as he allowed the sensation of breathing to flood his body. He could taste all sorts of strange things in the air. Some were quite neutral, but others made his lungs hurt. His throat burnt for the first few breaths of air he took until he got used to it. Then the only pain came from his lungs trying to fill completely, stopped by his ribcage, and a stab of pain that went straight to his hearts. If he was hurt, perhaps he was somewhere where he would be taken care of, until he was better. 

He closed his eyes again, and listened, trying to discern what language might be spoken. There was a lot of beeping, and the sound of wheels along the floor. One of the beeps seemed oddly familiar, but he didn't know why. Every now and then, he could hear voices from outside the room. Sometimes they spoke quickly, and this was sometimes followed by lots of beeping, and running feet. Other times, the voices were softer and used a different language, interspersed with strange noises that sounded like cries or howls. 

He tried to copy their words, letting his voice and tongue and lips try to make the same sounds. He was surprised at how quickly he picked it up, as if he already knew the language. He wondered if they would understand him if he spoke. He wasn't sure why he felt he wasn't one of these people; all he really knew of himself was that he just was, and if he could speak their language, then clearly he must be one of them, whatever they were.

He amused himself by naming all the things he could taste in the air, and describing them in as great a detail as possible, just to keep his mind occupied. He wasn't sure he was giving them proper names, but they made sense to him, at any rate. There was one that smelt of sixteen, another that felt tangy and bright, another that made a particular spot on his left arm quite cold. Another tasted sweet on one particular part of his tongue, and nowhere else. There was even one that seemed to sound like orange, and it hummed away in his right ear. 

The amusement didn't last long enough. Once he was done, he lay back and listened to the sounds around him. He could hear voices from outside the room, footsteps, wheels running along the floor, machinery sending soundwaves through the air. His mind was blank. Where was he? Who was he? Was he even a he? What even was a he, anyway? He wasn't sure about anything, now that he could see.

The room was stark white, and the brightness hurt his eyes. A loud beep in his right ear was growing louder and louder. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to make it go away, but all it did was make his headache worse. He still couldn't move his body. Staring at the ceiling, he wondered when someone would come and see him, and maybe he might figure out where he was, and what had happened to him.

* * *

"Three broken ribs, a badly broken leg, and a fractured skull. You're lucky you got out alive," said a man in a white coat. He had a strange contraption hung around his neck, and held some sort of book in his hands, which he gazed down at as he spoke.

He blinked. Well, that would explain the pain, and why he couldn't move. He turned his head to look at him. The man looked quite young, with a mess of dark curly hair, but didn't look entirely without authority. "So, where am I? Apart from some sort of healing place, I mean. You are some sort of healer, correct?" 

The man smiled. "Yes, I'm a doctor, I'll be taking care of you." 

That made sense. "Ahh, good. So am I getting better, then? What's that thing around your neck?" 

The doctor looked surprised, and removed the stethoscope from around his neck. "What, this? It's a stethoscope. I can listen to your heartbeat with it." 

"Can you really? Can I have a go? That sounds like fun," he said. "I want to listen to my hearts, make sure they're alright."

"Let me show you how to use it, first." The doctor placed the two earpieces in his ears and sat down beside him, leaning in close to press the round flat end to his chest, slipping it underneath the front of his gown. "You just press it gently over the heart, and listen for the heartbeat. Like this."

He shivered at the cold metal against his skin, but he understood what he was doing. The doctor placed the earpieces in his patient's ears, and let him listen. The heartbeat wasn't very loud, but it was definitely there, he could hear it. Taking the round end, he moved it around his chest, listening to the different sounds it made. He moved it to where he was sure his other heart was, and found it there, beating away. Shifting it between the two hearts, he could hear the way they beat together, pumping blood around his body.

"Can you hear my two hearts, doctor? I hope they sound alright," he said. "That is normal, right? To have two hearts?"

He didn't notice the doctor flinch at his words, as if he'd suddenly become aware of something important. His shocked impression didn't last, and his face softened as he listened to his heart again, just to confirm that there were indeed two hearts there. Hearing the distinctive heartbeat, he unbuttoned his own shirt, and let the man listen to his own two hearts. 

"See? Perfectly normal," the doctor said, his words somewhat forced. "You'll be fine. They sound completely normal to me. You'll be fighting fit in no time."

"What a marvellous invention. Can I keep this stethoscope? I rather like this," he said, grinning at the sounds.

"Sure, you can borrow it if you want. You can't keep it forever, though. I need that to do my job," the doctor said.

He didn't quite hear him, between the earpieces blocking some of the sound, and his curiosity about what his hearts sounded like. He looked up as the doctor touched his shoulder, and removed one of the earpieces.

"Hang on to it this afternoon, alright? I'll need it back. I'll see if I can't find a spare one for you, if you want one that badly," the doctor said.

"Well, if it's not too much trouble. That would be nice. So, where are we, again? Didn't you tell me already? I can't remember."

"You're in hospital in London. You've been here a month now. I was worried you'd never come out of that coma, but here you are. Do you remember anything at all?" the doctor said.

He frowned. He still didn't really remember anything, and the strange dreams that still occasionally drifted into his mind didn't make any sense. "I'm afraid you've got a blank canvass to work with. I don't even remember who I am."

"Hmm, I was hoping you might remember that, at least. You had no ID on you when you came in, and we can't find you in any government records. It's nice to get a living John Doe for once. We mostly get corpses around here," the doctor said.

He took a deep breath, which offered a sharp pain of caution, and considered his words. He tried to find anything in his memory at all, but it was all blank. It was like he'd just become conscious this very instant, as if he were a newborn. It was very disconcerting. 

"Well, I guess I'd better find a name, then, er – do you have a name, charming doctor in a white coat?" he said.

"You can call me Dr Addison, or Chris, if you like. What about you? I could call you Stephen, or Darcy, or Columbine, or maybe even Electra," the doctor said with a cheerful grin. "I don't often get to ask my Does what to call them. That'll be a new experience. A corpse that can talk back. I have seen everything."

"I'm sure you'll think of a good name for me, Dr Addison. What do I look like, anyway? I can't remember what I even look like," he said.

The doctor took out a small device and pointed it at him for a moment. There was a flash, and a click, and he smiled at it before showing him the device. Having not seen anything of his surroundings except for the ceiling, and parts of the walls, it was strange to see the face staring back at him. It didn't look like him, but he didn't know why he felt that way. It wasn't like he remembered what he looked like to begin with. The face staring back at him had a mess of dark brown hair, and a strange expression, seen amongst the bandages that were wrapped around his head. He frowned. 

"What is that thing? Is that me? Is that what I really look like?" he asked, confused. "What a strange face."

"I'm afraid that's you, my friend. I mean, you were in a pretty serious crash, so some allowances have to be made for your injuries, but that's it," Dr Addison said.

He frowned again. "Well, that's disappointing."

"We can't all be Prince Charming," Dr Addison said. "Anyway. I'll leave you to rest, and I'll be in to see you tomorrow, alright? Maybe you'll have remembered something by then."

He wasn't entirely sure he would, but bid him goodbye, anyway. The room was very quiet after that. He couldn't move, and didn't want to move, so he was stuck lying there, staring up at the ceiling.

* * *

A week later, he had progressed to sitting up, and now he could watch the television that was attached to the far wall. He couldn't remember ever seeing such a device before, but at least it proved to be mildly entertaining. It distracted him from being bored and worrying about the fact he still couldn't remember who he was. Dr Addison said he was recovering well, but that was hardly comforting. What was he even going to do once he got out of hospital? Where would he go? He wasn't sure why he was that troubled by these questions, except that Dr Addison kept asking him, and all he was sure about was that it was just another adventure. The world was fresh and new now, and he wanted to understand all of it. 

The television was at least helping him grasp how the world outside worked, at least in some instances. The news programs offered a strange insight into what was happening outside, and when he was able to sit by the window in his room, he would stare down at the street, watching the people walk by, trying to reconcile what he saw with what the news told him about. The disconnect was strange, but there were other programs that seemed to make up for it. He liked the shows that appeared to be dramatized retellings of real life; he had thought they were news, too, but a nurse had set him straight on that point, and helped him discern fact from fiction. He still liked them, though. The fictional lives of these people always seemed entertaining, and hardly ever dull. Considering his own present existence consisted of sitting in bed all day, it was nice to know at least some people were having a good time. 

The machines that kept beeping in his room had become an annoyance. He had to stop himself tinkering with them, because the last time he'd tried, he'd apparently nearly killed someone as he attempted to figure out how an artificial respirator even worked. It seemed like such a marvellous thing to have invented, a machine that could breathe for you if you couldn't do it yourself. He wasn't entirely sure why the technology drew his attention more than anything else. He decided it might just be because that was pretty much all that surrounded him, and he wasn't allowed out on his own anymore, in case he tinkered with the machines and nearly killed someone else. At least the constant supervision meant he always had someone to talk to. 

He wasn't sure what he'd do once he was better. His strange dreams had continued, and he felt that some of them might perhaps have been real memories, but it was hard to tell when he had no idea who he was. The flash of fire and the beeping sounds of doom, or so he called them, seemed to be memories of the crash. He still didn't really know what, exactly, he'd crashed in, though. No one had told him. He hadn't seen anything on television that matched the flashes of memory in his head, except for some fanciful space ships, which he'd been told didn't exist in reality. He didn't believe them for a moment, though why, he couldn't quite say. 

He'd also finally been given a name. Not wanting to refer to him as a John Doe all the time, Dr Addison - Chris - had given him a thick book of baby names, and told him to pick something. After a morning discovering the kinds of things these British people called their infants, he decided on Milton, for no other reason than it sounded ridiculous to his ears. He wasn't sure why, but it made him laugh. He spent about an hour trying to find the most ridiculous way to pronounce it, stretching and shortening and twisting the letters until the word began to sound like the strangest sound he'd ever heard. 

But then, everything was ridiculous to him. His mind had seen fit to forget that he'd known anything at all about this world, these Britons, and their society and technology. Everything was a new experience, and it delighted him endlessly.

* * *

"So, where will you go now?" Chris said.

Milton - Milton! - he was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that that was now his name - stood on the front step of the hospital, unsure about anything. It had been a month since he'd woken up, and he was too well to stay any longer. Budget cuts, or bureaucracy, or some other ridiculous word Milton had heard as an excuse.

"Oh, I don't know, I expect I'll make that up as I go. By the way, do you happen to know where I crashed? I'd like to go back and see if it brings back any of my memories," Milton said.

"I thought you might. Here, it's just off the M6, just outside Coventry, I printed a map for you, and instructions on how to get there. I wrote my phone number here, in case you need to ring me, that's your train ticket, and here's fifty quid, just in case," Chris said.

Milton looked at the map, and the money, and the number. Chris had shown him a lot of things as he'd recovered, and done his best to help him adjust to the world all over again. They'd become quite good friends, or so Milton thought. It didn't entirely mean he was ready to go out there on his own. For one, his leg was still somewhat sore, even if it wasn't in a cast anymore. He also wasn't sure what he was meant to do, since he was effectively homeless. Still, he was sure he was the sort of chap who liked an adventure, so he wasn't terribly afraid of going out there. He had a chance to start life again, for whatever reason, and, well, he might as well make the most of it.

"Well, thank you, doctor. I'll see what I can find out there. Good day, sir! I hope you don't have another living corpse for quite a while!" Milton said cheerfully.

* * *

Checking the map, he set off, leaving the hospital behind. The land was larger than he'd thought, and the map made the distances look impossibly smaller than they really were. After asking three people, he managed to find his way to a train station, and after three mistakes, he managed to find the right train. He thought this was an achievement in and of itself, and he took his seat by the window, gazing out the window as the land passed by. The gentle lull of the train soon had him dozing off, left to dream of nothing.

* * *

Someone shaking his shoulder roused him, and he was startled to find a woman gazing at him, looking concerned. Milton offered a confused look in return. 

"You said you needed to get off here? I can only hold the train for so long, sir," the woman said.

Reminded of why he'd got on the train in the first place, he got up, clutching the map in hand. "Oh, good, thank you, ma'am. That is right, isn't it? Ma'am? What a strange word." 

The woman didn't have a chance to reply as Milton pushed past her and left the train, stepping out onto the station platform. It smelt like a train, which was as strange as it was unexceptional. He looked at his map as he walked through the crowds and out to the street, wondering how he might get where he needed to be. 

He consulted his list of instructions, looked at the map again, and decided it would be faster to walk directly there. Alright, he wasn't sure it would be faster, but he didn't want to fall asleep on another train, or whatever other vehicles these Britons used, so he decided to walk. It might help jog his memory.

* * *

In the end, it wasn't faster. Milton was a little disappointed, particularly as the sun was now much lower in the sky, but he'd got to experience a whole extra hour of the world he wouldn't have got if he'd followed the instructions. He'd walked through the town, and along pretty laneways. He'd dodged vehicles, and jumped over fences in a bid to take a shortcut. He'd even spent a good ten minutes attempting to converse with a cow he'd found in a field. He understood her well enough, though the cow became skittish and didn't let him near her. She'd never had a human speak to her before, not in her own language.

The crash site was obvious from the disturbed earth, and the cordoned off crater that had been left in its wake. There wasn't anyone around to stop him approaching, though, and he slipped under the tape and went inside. The crater was bigger than he'd thought. He wasn't sure why he thought that, but clearly, he'd crashed pretty hard to have caused such a large hole in the ground. What on earth had he even crashed in? What could have done this? 

"Well, I certainly left an impression, that's for sure," he chuckled to himself as he walked forward, trying to remember anything. Something was nagging at him, at the back of his mind, but he just couldn't remember…

He knelt down to look at the earth. It was dark, black, as if it had been scorched. Fire flashed in his memory, fire, and beeping, and falling, and crashing. Falling, yes, he had definitely been falling. In what, he didn't know, except that 'spaceship' had always seemed like the most obvious choice, daft as it sounded to Chris. Milton picked some soil up in his hand, and let it fall to the ground. The soil was soft, but the rock and debris weren't. 

He looked up, over to the other side. There didn't seem to be any wreckage. There was nothing here to suggest what had happened. Something had fallen, crashed, here - him! - but how, why, and in what, were unknown to him. He sat down, and let the memories he still had float into his mind. The falling, flying, crashing, burning – that had definitely happened. The loud beeping still echoed in his mind. He still couldn't remember what had caused him to crash, but he definitely remembered crashing now. 

"Two. Bloody. Hearts. I should've known that was you, Doctor. Changed your face and all, but I know it's you. You can't run from me forever, Time Lord," came an angry voice from behind him. 

Milton's expression went from confused to amused to concerned and back to confused. He thought a moment as his memories began to make more sense. Time Lord. Two hearts. Yes. That made some sort of sense. He stood, brow furrowed. "Ah. Well, that would explain the cow. No wonder she was scared. Don't these people speak cow? How very odd."

Milton turned to see Chris standing nearby. He was, at least, now aware that having two hearts was not normal, though why Chris was suddenly here, and suddenly angry about it, weren't entirely clear to him. It did occur to him that Chris had obviously wanted him to come here, and if that was the case, perhaps he ought to pretend he still didn't know who he was. Which, he felt, was true enough. Identifying his species didn’t particularly offer him any more information than when he'd thought he was a human. 

"Erm, I'm not sure I know what you're talking about, er," he said as he went to step back away from him, but Chris moved forward and shoved him back. Milton stumbled on the uneven ground, and fell hard. Chris stood over him, reaching down to grasp his collar.

"There's only one other bloody Time Lord left, Doctor." The voice spat the last word. "Of course it's you."

Milton still looked confused, and now, a little scared. Chris wore an expression of mad hatred, and Milton had no idea why. He was sure he had never met this other Time Lord before in any of his previous lives; perhaps Time Lords were part cat. They were thought to have nine lives. That might explain a few things. 

Chris pulled him up roughly and shoved him forward, breaking him from the amusing image of Chris as a half-man, half-cat, a Cat Lord, who was sitting in the middle of a crater, cleaning himself. Milton allowed himself a small chuckle at the image.

"That's right, laugh away, Doctor. But I'll get the last laugh this time. I never thought I'd ever see another TARDIS again, but then you crashed, Doctor, and I could finally see how I could escape this rat-infested planet. You can live out the rest of your miserable lives here for all I care," Chris said.

Milton decided to hide how much he was remembering as Chris spoke. He wasn't sure he really remembered the Doctor, or the Time Lord standing before him. He rather thought they were both younger than he was. He was certain he hadn't heard of them before he'd left Gallifrey for good all those thousands of years ago, though whispers of their rivalry had found their way to him as he'd travelled across the cosmos. 

"Er, no, I really think you have the wrong man. I really don't know what you're talking about," Milton said.

As if summoned out of the aether, there came a loud sound, a screech so loud, and so high, Milton could barely hear it, and it brought him to his knees. And then, a punch to his chest that knocked the wind from him, then Chris grasping him by the collar and pulling him up again. Their faces were inches apart now, and Milton wasn't sure he liked what he saw in Chris' eyes. 

"You were always so bloody good at lying, weren't you, Doctor? But not anymore. No, no, you're going down with me, down together, and this whole bloody planet will be destroyed," Chris said.

Milton was, by now, ever so slightly terrified. So he smiled stoically, and pushed his fears aside. "Well, then. I shan't worry that I can't remember who I am, not if the world's going to end today. That's quite a relief. I was wondering what I was going to do with myself out here in a world I don't remember. You've saved me the trouble." 

His words were met with a scream, and he was shoved backwards. Milton tripped and fell hard on his back, and he knew without being told that he'd hurt his ribs again. The sharp pain flooded his body, and he had to force himself to breathe. 

He watched Chris leap up onto something, something he very much suspected was his TARDIS, cloaked and invisible as it was. At least Chris had fixed it for him. That was something to be admired, at least. He was almost impressed by that. He couldn't help smiling as a hot wind passed him, and his ship appeared out of thin air. He smiled in recognition, and while it might suggest to Chris, if he caught sight of it, that he knew who he was, he couldn’t help himself. 

She'd taken on the last form she remembered, a strange angular shape that didn't quite blend in with the background. She was seemingly cased in dark metal, and had three tripod legs holding her up. She wasn’t very big, perhaps 20 metres in diameter, and she was barely six metres high. 

"What a girl. We've had some adventures, haven't we?" Milton murmured in greeting. His smile faded as he saw Chris staring at him.

"Is it all coming back now, Doctor? I rescued your bloody TARDIS, Doctor. I rebuilt it with my bare hands. She's mine, and I'll destroy this stinking planet once and for all. Say your final words, Doctor. It'll be the most glorious sight when the world catches fire. All that beautiful destruction..." His face hardened. "This world will burn, Doctor. And there's nothing you can do. Nothing. Enjoy the sight while it lasts. You won't see it for much longer."

Milton took a moment to take in his words. He was by now sure he wasn't the Time Lord Chris thought he was. His body protested at being made to stand, but Milton ignored the pain. His TARDIS could heal him once he had it back. 

"I think you'll find, Doctor, that I'm not the Time Lord you're looking for," Milton said eventually. He allowed himself a smile at his choice of words. "I'm pretty sure I left Gallifrey long before you were even born." 

Chris' face contorted into rage and surprise and disappointment, mixed together with a little amazement. He laughed a little, then he laughed some more. He grinned madly at Milton as he came down from the TARDIS, and crawled over to him, observing him intently.

"There are three of us! Three! Rassilon's beard, I'd never have thought - but - how did you even escape? Gallifrey fell. The Daleks, they just - " 

Milton merely blinked, confused, wondering what he was meant to do with what appeared to be a mad Time Lord. He was beginning to remember the stories he'd heard about this particular Time Lord. "Er, what do you mean, Gallifrey fell?" 

Chris cupped his face, and stared at him. "The Time War. Surely you remember the bloody Time War. How did you escape the Time War?"

Milton was lost again. "Time War? What Time War? I'm sorry, I don't know what you're talking about. Are you sure you're alright?"

"The bloody Time War! There was only one! The Daleks attacked – Gallifrey fell – surely you remember the Time War?" Chris said, exasperated. 

Milton managed to look aloof. "Nope, I really don't know what you're on about. You sure you're not in need of a Doctor? You do seem to be quite ill."

Chris let out a loud groan, and walked away from him, clutching his head. "Why didn't I crash? Why didn't I forget who I am? Why can I never forget who I am?" 

"So, er, are you still going to destroy the planet? Only, I was hoping to do a bit more walking around, that's all, you know, jog the memory and all that," Milton said, breaking the tension with a topic change. 

This time, Chris really didn't seem to be listening. Milton decided it might be time to escape, and snuck over to the ship. It let him inside, and he smiled, allowing himself to just drink in how familiar it all felt. Yes, he was definitely home.

He wasn't sure what he was going to do now, but if he was a Time Lord, and he had a TARDIS, well, the whole expanse of Time and Space were at his disposal. He walked to the console, drawn to it. He closed his eyes a moment, and his hand reached for the buttons and levers, letting his instincts guide him. The ship came to life, and with one final command, the engines fired up, and all Milton heard was the ever-faint voice of the Master, screaming at him to stay, as he disappeared into the cosmos, somewhere, somewhen, to see what he could find.


End file.
